Dripping Blood
by Miss221B
Summary: "Please," was all he could think, "please don't take my baby brother away from me. Don't take him away. My Sam. My Sammy. My little brother. My baby, God PLEASE!" Warning: Depression, attempted suicide


Soooooooo, this is really sad. Seriously. I have no idea where this came from... I apologize.

Dean sighed and looked over at his brother. _Oh Sam, _he thought sadly, _what are we going to do with you?_

Sam lay sleeping in his bed, oblivious to Dean's watchful presence. Of course, Sam was oblivious to a lot of things nowadays. Like the fact that Dean _did_ in fact, give a shit about his baby brother. That bit, apparently, had not made itself blaringly obvious in Sam's mind; Hence the cutting.

Dean knew it wasn't his brother's fault. Sam was depressed, and Dean was no doctor, but he still knew that Sam was ill, and couldn't control these… horrible things that pestered his mind. Still, it made Dean fucking mad when it got bad, and he saw that look of doubt on Sam's face. That one that said, _maybe you don't. Maybe, you don't love me. Maybe I'm alone_.Because Sam was not alone. Sam was the farthest thing from alone, and Dean felt so fucking helpless because the most he can do isn't enough. When it gets that bad, even the hugs and kisses that Dean does not give out lightly don't do anything. All he could do is sit and watch and make sure that, if necessary, he could protect Sam from himself.

SPNSPNSPN SPNSPNSPN SPNSPNSPN

He remembered the day that particular sorrow started. He, dad and Bobby had been away on a hunt. They had returned joyfully victorious to Bobby's house two days early, where Sam had been staying and recuperating after a nasty case of pneumonia. They had gone straight to the kitchen, to grab some celebratory whisky, Winchester style. Dean had snuck upstairs, eager to surprise his brother with his early arrival. He had expected Sam to be asleep, after all it was 2am on a Tuesday night, and Sam would surely be going to school the next day. Unfortunately, that is nowhere near what Dean found.

Sam's door had been open, which was odd because Sam had always declared when he was little that he could not sleep with the door open. He just would not have it, and Dean had never figured out why. He stepped into the darkened room, immediately noticing that Sam was not in his bed. His bed that was completely unmade with the blankets in a huge mess on the floor. Dean's hand unconsciously twitched towards his gun.

The light to the bathroom across the hall, Dean noticed, was on. _He must have had a nightmare, _Dean tried to assure himself. Sam was prone to the nastiest of nightmares, and Dean felt bad for not having been there for his brother. But he could not shake the feeling that something was really wrong. He walked slowly towards the door, and found himself asking Sam's name in a whisper. Why the hell was he whispering? He got closer to the door, and was disturbed to hear the sound of Sam sobbing softly. Damn, must have been a bad nightmare.

He put his hand on the doorknob, privacy was never really a problem for them, and he just wanted to be with his brother. It had been a long two weeks, and he was not knocking just so Sam could tell him to go away. He opened the door slightly, calling out "Sammy?" He never forgot the sight that lay before him.

Sam's head jerked up from wear it had been resting on his knees, which were brought up to his chest. His skin was sickly pale. His eyes were red rimmed and fear filled. Just his eyes alone could have broken Dean's heart. But the rest of it picked up the pieces and shredded it. The blood…._ God the blood_. It was everywhere. Sam was surrounded by it. There was a huge puddle that he was sitting in. It was stained in his pajamas; And his wrists. They both froze. Then Sam whimpered his name and promptly passed out. Dean moved quicker than he had ever before in his life. He dashed to Sam's side, catching his head before it hit the ground as he fell sideways. His brain couldn't process. The monster; Where was the monster? Where was the thing that _dared_ hurt his Sammy? But he didn't see anything, Nothing but Sam and all that red. It suddenly struck him why Sam's skin was so pale; Because his blood was all over the fucking floor. Sam, OH GOD Sam! Dean had never seen this much blood before, especially covering his brother. His heart stuttered when it occurred to him that his Sam was dying. He screamed for his Dad, Bobby, anybody who could help, who could make Sammy better. The effect was immediate. He heard the steps pounding up the stairs, racing towards Dean.

_Please, _was all he could think, _please don't take my baby brother away from me. Don't take him away. My Sam. My Sammy. My little brother. My baby, God PLEASE_!

Then the steps were upon him. Dean didn't think he could ever be able to forget the expression on his father's face, when he ran in and saw his baby covered in his blood, the blood that was still pouring out.

Everything became a bit blurry after that. Bobby took control, as all Winchester were either bleeding out on the floor, or breathless at the sight of the one bleeding on the floor. He remembered the car though. Bobby and Dad were in the front, Dad turned around and watching desperately. Dean was in the back, clutching his baby brother desperately to him, keeping him wrapped in a blanket, keeping the towels pressed to his wrists, and whispering to him.

"It's okay Sammy, it's okay baby. Big brothers gottcha honey. You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be fine. Just hold on for me little brother; I just need you to hold on." All Dean could think about was the red covering him now as well, and hunting down the sonovabitch that had done this.

The hospital had rushed him away as soon as they had made a rather dramatic entry, Dean screaming for help, and John with tears in his eyes, screaming just as loud as his son. Dean had cried in the waiting room; angry tears, worried tears, devastated tears. Sam was supposed to be asleep right now, then wake up and go to school and be the smartass that Dean so desperately loved. He wasn't supposed to be rushed to the hospital at two in the fucking morning, bleeding and nearly dead. It wasn't right.

After about three hours a nurse came out. She was pretty, blond hair that fell down her graceful back. Dean didn't notice any of that.

"Family of Sam Winchester?" They rushed to her, Dean almost aggressively. He was annoyed that this bitch currently knew more about his brother's wellbeing than he did. "Where is my brother?" He was practically jumping; he needed to see his brother now.

The nurse silently showed them to Sam's room, telling them the doctor would be in shortly. And fuck if Dean didn't want to start crying again the second he saw his brother again. He was so damn pale, and looked small in the white bed. His wrists were wrapped tightly, and many machines were connected to Dean's brother. He collapsed in a nearby chair, and held Sam's limp hand. His father and Bobby took a seat, and they waited in silence.

The doctor came in. He told them that if they had arrived ten minutes later Sam would not be with them in the land of the living. He had, in fact, crashed twice while they were trying to get more blood into him. And then came the other bit. He told them that Sam had done it. The slices in his wrists indicated that Sam had tried to _kill himself_. He also went to explain that there were other scares on his arms, that it had been going on for at least two years. Dean almost punched the man in the face. He hated his expression, the pity in his eyes; the pity for Sam. Sam, who had seen more in his short lifetime than the doctor every would, who was stronger than the doctor could ever hope to be. Sam, who had been attacked by the monster of the week, only to receive only pity from this miserable man. His father caught his arm though, and pulled him out into the next room, which was empty of a patient.

Dean ranted and yelled, until his father shook his head sadly. "But he wouldn't!" Dean cried, his voice wavering. His father looked at him with sadness. "He _wouldn't_". His father embraced him silently when Dean felt as though he could collapse. And there were those damn tears again. They cried for the son they had let down, for the child they had nearly lost, and for the pain they had unknowingly let him live with.

SPNSPNSPN SPNSPNSPN SPNSPNSPN

When Sam had awoken, he had been shocked to know he was in the hospital, and even more shocked when he learned they thought he had tried to kill himself. It was hard to get a single word in, what with Dean's crying apologies, his father's questions, and Bobby's silent look. He told them a story, that it was an accident at first, his hand had slipped. The blood had mesmerized him, that's where it had started. Two years ago, of course. He hadn't been trying to kill himself, really. He had just gotten carried away. They listened, of course they listened, and Dean crawled into the bed when Sam had tears trickling down his face when he told them _why_.

He couldn't train like Dean did. He never had, and he knew he never would. He was clumsy and not a good hunter. Dean tried to interject, to tell him how wrong he was, but Sam continued. He hated the fights, how dad yelled at him. He knew he wasn't as good as Dean, God he knew. And then he worried, worried that he would get somebody hurt or killed. Why would they want him around? Why would they possibly care if Sam disappeared? He was useless, a holdback, dragging them down. Sam had finally stopped talking when his sobs overcame him. The small family embraced, tried desperately to help, to mend the wounds. They never really healed though.

SPNSPNSPN SPNSPNSPN SPNSPNSPN

It had been a year after the incident. Dean still watched Sam like a hawk, close to him all of the time. He and John noticed, now. The way Sam hardly ate and slept, how he hardly responded. Dean's heart ached at every silent answer, every sleepless night. They tried, oh how they tried. John tried to find hunts that were close, tried to reduce the amount of moving. Dean hugged Sam more, tried to convey that he loved his little brother more than life.

It didn't matter though, Sam knew. He was sick. He wasn't getting better. And he sure as hell wouldn't have his brother's love when Dad died because he was worrying about Sam during a hunt, or if Dean died because of Sam. His body ached at the pain he was causing his family. He wanted it to stop.

On Friday night, August 5, 1996, while his brother was downstairs getting out plates for pizza, Samuel Winchester put the gun up to his head and pulled the trigger.

SPNSPNSPN SPNSPNSPN SPNSPNSPN

Dean had thought his brother was better.


End file.
